


Odyssey Asylum

by Chanel_Pirate



Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent
Genre: Aftercare, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Full Consent, Humiliation kink, Intense Subspace, M/M, Mood Whiplash, Name Calling, Not SSS, PWP, Roleplay, Rough Sex, This is nasty, Unhealthy Relationships, elements of BDSM, not safe for life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 20:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chanel_Pirate/pseuds/Chanel_Pirate
Summary: These things kept happening to him.





	Odyssey Asylum

 

 

 

Alexander was a man of many secrets.

 

He held knowledge that had the potential to alter the course of history. He held influence in undisclosed matters of state that could unseat dynasties. He had travelled far and wide, and was not afraid to disturb the universe—and how he had galled her. He had seen things that people wouldn’t believe. Entire colonies on fire off the edge of galaxies. He had watched planets being born out of darkness in vitae-stained afterbirth. All those moments, to be lost in time, like ethanol in laudanum. Time that twisted for him, with him.

 

With all this power came sacrifice, and the self-awareness that power unchecked never remained so for long. So he held it, but not tenderly; he controlled it with an iron fist, controlled himself with the tyranny he spared others. And with sacrifice and self-awareness came understanding; for Alexander, this was the understanding that he was powerless before what little he still found interesting or beautiful.

 

Defenceless as a lamb headed to slaughter.

 

And when it came to Daniel?

 

Alexander was a damned stupid fool.

 

Verily hoist by his own petard, if the strength of the knots trying his wrists behind his back and to his ankles were any indication. Knots he himself had shown Daniel to tie in the first place. The cell was dank and acrid with mould; if he rued one thing about Weyer’s departure, it was that he had taken the secret of its removal with him. His lips curled in distaste beneath the hessian sack tied around his head. It seemed that this was a day for hauntings from the impulses he’d allowed himself to have.

 

He heard nothing but occasional drops of water. Drip, drip, drip. He ought to have better looked after the place. What prisoners were left did not make much noise; he could hear the occasional low sob or whimper through the pipes. Based on this, he could venture a guess that he might have been there an hour, or three; but he had no way of knowing how long he’d been trapped there, stuck kneeling blind in the cold of his own dungeon, wearing his trousers and naught else.

 

These things kept happening to him.

 

His neck and joints ached, and whenever he tried to move his head, his hair pulled at his scalp, a few strands caught where the sack was tied. At first he’d thought of it as an upright uṣṭrāsana, albeit held far beyond the recommended time frame. He’d used it to clear his mind. But now, while his prāṇa was good and flowing, and his chakras were as aligned as they could ever be, the drops, the drops were beginning to irritate him—

 

No, it was worse than irritating. It was dull.

 

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Deep breaths from the depths of his thorax, trying not to think how this position jarred this deteriorating body’s lumbar.

 

Emptiness of mind eluded him.

 

He thought of Daniel, with his cruel smile and his fractious mind, sharp as the blades he favoured. He always did have a weakness for men who thought they were owed the world. They were often easier to anticipate, however, and far easier to control.

 

Yet here he was. Yes, śūnyatā would have to wait.

 

One could discern a rhythm in the drops. He hummed a few bars from Die Zauberflöte. In the melody, it occurred to him that the counterpoint would suit an ongoing composition of his; it appeared in his mind fully formed. He bit his tongue and tasted blood.

 

It would drift from his mind without the opportunity to commit it to paper, all because Daniel’s little tantrum was taking too long. It would disappear forever. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

 

Before he could collect himself, he heard the door creak, felt the draught. Of course this would be when Daniel chose to return. He could glean nothing off him; and he sensed none of his Gatherers nearby.

 

“Would that you could see yourself,” Daniel hissed, boots heavy on stone.

 

“Why, is the sight to your liking?” Alexander croaked, mouth dry.

 

He could feel Daniel’s presence now that he was closer. Appealing as usual, in that odd, blank way of his. Blank, meaning: potential.

 

“You are bold to speak so freely,” Daniel said, “Considering your situation.”

 

“What can I say? I am sure you were terribly busy,” he shifted on his knees, trying to get some relief, “But I will remind you. I am still lord of this keep. And Prussian manners prize punctuality.”

 

As he spoke, he could hear Daniel rummaging about in the cell. He was freezing by now. It had to be getting dark, outside. He suppressed a shiver, but there was no hiding the gooseflesh.

 

“You don’t half go on, do you? May I remind you that you are here to answer for your crimes. Nothing more.”

 

Daniel’s voice had an edge. As though he were thinking through what penance Alexander shall receive. As though he had decided.

 

It was getting hard to breathe in the sack. “I do wish you’d get on with it, then. We are no longer in your effete Mayfair. Brennenburg is a place of action—”

 

He felt the edge of something over the sack, beneath his chin, tilting his head upwards. “Do you even hear yourself, sometimes? Who do you think you are?”

 

Before Alexander could open his mouth, he felt it again, this time running down his chest. Yes.

 

That was definitely the crop.

 

He swallowed.

 

“You parade yourself constantly,” Daniel said, crop still painting lines into him, “as though you are a duke, no, the king himself, and not a mere baron. Freiherr, at that. Do you think that even gets you into most clubs in my ‘effete Mayfair’?”

 

He was still, but for the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

 

Daniel moved to stand behind him, crop trailing with his movement until it was at Alexander’s back. It prodded at his shoulder blades.

 

“Oh, that can’t be at all comfortable.”

 

“Don’t you worry yourself. It’s fine, I’ve had worse,” Alexander snarled, breathless.

 

“If you say so,” Daniel said, distracted. Deliberative. “You know what I think, Alexander? I think you like being on your knees. I think that deep down you know that you are still just Rhenish silt, bankside scum, and that you just want,” the crop moved away, leaving Alexander’s back cold, “You just want somebody to remind you that you are nothing.”

 

Alexander shifted. He was getting hard. Breathe. Die Zauberflöte. “Look at that, mere nephew to a viscount and you’re already—“

 

The crop came down on his back. He gasped. He went very still, and breathed what warm, stale air he could.

 

He hadn’t expected Daniel to go through with it. He should have.

 

“Look at that,” Daniel mocked, “Had I known that’s all it would take to make you listen, I would have done it much sooner. But you know what? I don’t think I much care for whether or not you do.”

 

Alexander bit his lip, muscles straining in resistance against the ties. His back stung, warm stripe pulsing. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could bear. “Oh?” It sounded rather too close to a moan. He tried to straighten his back.

 

“I think,” Daniel said, and he lashed out with the crop once more, excellent timing, and Alexander arched into it, groaning in pain, “I think I only care to see you suffer today. You may say what you will,” his boot propped up on his back, “it won’t help you. As far as I am concerned,” he pressed, pushing Alexander’s torso down until he heard his joints creaking, “you are just a rabid dog, responding only to your master’s shit, and do you know what happens to rabid dogs, Alexander?”

 

The boot against his back irritated the sting, the ridges of the sole digging into where the skin was most tender. His joints screamed. “What—” his voice shook, “What happens to—ah,” he was interrupted by another lash of the crop, right over where the first stroke had fallen, “What happens to rabid dogs like me, Daniel?” He was dizzy. He felt drunk.

 

“Why, Baron. They get put down,” Daniel hissed by his ear, pushing down and kicking off his back, where it ached.

 

“I should have known.” Alexander’s head rolled back, even as he straightened again, as best he could. He was glad Daniel could not see his face.

 

He could hear Daniel stalking around him. “Yes, it’s good to see you this way, I think. Nothing to set you apart. Just a flesh casing, indistinguishable from another, just a foul, wasting old living corpse,” he circled back to stand behind his back. “None of that learning. None of that pretension. Just a rum old bastard waiting to feed the worms.” He struck again, harder than the last, over sore patches of skin.

 

Alexander whimpered, breath coming in pants.

 

Daniel came round to his front again.

 

“But what’s this?” he said, and his voice had an edge of spiteful delight that Alexander had heard before, while torturing prisoners, and it had made him shiver then. To be the object of it now, oh, perhaps living to this point had been a good thing after all.

 

“What’s—what,” he said, failing to keep his voice even. Daniel was silent. It was unnerving. He had taught him far too well. He was proud, despite himself. “Daniel, what’s,” his voice broke. “Da—”

 

Daniel’s boot came down on his erection. Alexander whined, squirmed, pushed into the boot, which was resting there, light, motionless.

 

Daniel’s voice was nearer when he next spoke, and the pressure increased. He must have been bracing his elbow on his knee, leaning forward. He could all but see that smile, hear it in his voice. “Oh Alexander. On one hand, I’m surprised that your pathetic, ancient little prick works so well. On the other hand, I’m not surprised that this is to your liking,” he pushed down harder. Alexander’s balance was thrown off; he couldn’t help trying to push into it. “I suppose I should have guessed that this is what you like, kneeling in filth and rutting like a dog in the dark while you can’t even see what’s happening, is that right, Alexander?”

 

“Ye—ah, yes.”

 

“I suspect it’s not even that it’s me,” he ground his heel in, and Alexander rutted into it in earnest. “I think you’d be willing to do this for any and everyone who would take you, wouldn’t you? High and proud Baron. But you’re just a little whore, aren’t you? Waiting in your lonely little castle for any man who would sully himself on you to come by and debase himself on your disgusting, whorish, uh,” Daniel’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “filth, and that’s all you really want, you scum, you—Alexander, you know, I am not sure I am entirely au fait with—”

 

“Daniel I swear by the sun that if you stop now I will tie you up in truth and have your guts for literal garters.”

 

“All right, all right,” Daniel grumbled. His foot relaxed. He heard him take a deep breath. The focus dispersed. He could sense too much of Daniel’s mind, as he tried to clear his own.

 

Alexander growled, and pushed his pelvis forward. A hip popped, slightly. “Come now, Daniel,” he breathed, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid again? Do you so easily let yourself retreat? I venture you won’t even dare to use the crop again. What are you so afraid of, silly boy? Me? Yourself? Maybe—”

 

His head was pushed into Daniel’s groin. He could feel him, thick and long. Hard. Crushed into his face, along his cheek, near his lips. “Shut your mouth, peasant. You forget yourself. Your place is in the dirt. You are not fit to even look upon me. I shall use the crop should I wish to, and only then. You are not worthy of even that.” He pressed into Alexander’s cock with his foot. “You taint the instrument that hides you. You profane my boot.”

 

Daniel was so very frightening. He moaned, aware that the vibrations would travel through Daniel’s cock. His arms were numb. Everything was numb. He needed that cock. “Yes, yes, but what will you do about—about the matter?”

 

Daniel’s hand on his head tightened. Alexander could feel his control slip as he thrust at him, once. The foot pressed in, just short of being substantial.

 

“I ought to have gagged you,” Daniel said, husk-like. “Put a stop to that mouth of yours.”

 

Alexander, eyes heavy-lidded, responded, but it was not voiced.

 

“What was that? Dare I believe your words fail you?”

 

He repeated, voice cracking, “I said, you still could.”

 

Daniel went still. He could taste the indecision rattling in his skull, felt the moment he arrived at something.

 

He let go of Alexander, completely. The crop fell. His footsteps retreated from the cell.

 

Alexander couldn’t breathe, faint.

 

He had tales of encounters more capricious than this. He’d passed long centuries on this cursed Earth, and he’d needed many favours in confidence. He knew seduction from the best of them. He’d known his way around Potsdam. He’d had to jump out of a Versailles window or two. He’d survived the Great Empress in the East. Alexander was no blushing maiden fair. At a point, the Order had been more akin to a peculiar cross between a brothel and a halfway house for wayward, and very attractive, young soldiers. Oh, he would always look back on Fritzi fondly.

 

But Daniel was the only one he could never predict. The only one who broke the patterns. A fluctuating mind. Dangerous. He presented true danger, danger Alexander no longer felt: danger with no stipulation of dullness, with no context whatsoever. So the Order might strike him down. So what? So the villagers of Altstadt might mob him? Took them long enough. But Daniel?

 

It would take a lunatic to even hazard a guess.

 

He shuffled, lightheaded. His old knees. His erection was flagging. This was getting uncomfortable in an unpleasant way. He could do with a drink. Something that could unblock a drain would not be amiss. Agrippa had used to make just the stuff. Barrels of it remained in the cellar.

 

What was Daniel even doing?

 

He reached out with his mind. He couldn’t feel him.

 

He told himself: this is part of it. Just like you showed him. The lesson of timing. This is part of it. He will come back. He has got to come back. He won’t take the orb. He will.

 

Frustration started taking hold. His prāṇa was all over the place. As panic began to sink its teeth in, he heard a loud mind, and footsteps. They didn’t stop. They continued until Daniel was before him, kneeling, one hand taking a strong grip on his hair through the sack, the other, holding the flat side of something to his cock.

 

“Beg,” Daniel breathed, and he could feel it through the sack. He tilted his head, trying to meet the outline of his lips, but Daniel pulled on his head harder, bringing tears to his eyes. “And you’d best make sure you beg for the right thing.”

 

His wrist made a subtle motion, subtler, and he realised. Daniel was holding a knife to his cock. He felt all the blood drain from everywhere else. His erection wasn’t flagging now.

 

Leave it to Daniel to teach him things he didn’t know about himself after however long.

 

“Well?” The hand on his head tightened.

 

Alexander sucked in a breath. “I want—Gods, I want, I want—”

 

Daniel gave his head another painful tug. Something in his shoulder clicked. “Nobody cares what you want, you pleb. My patience grows thin. Don’t make me use this.”

 

His wrist moved, sharp edge making itself known. Alexander went still, a high-pitched whimper escaping him, and he tasted blood and salt on his lips. Divine.

 

The hand moved from his head. He felt some hesitation coming from Daniel, and it would have terribly spoiled it all, if Daniel hadn’t just then slapped him, cheekbone aching so well, a slap one would reserve for a disobedient animal. His head swung back, blinking rapidly, and gods, he could come like this.

 

“Well?” Daniel roared in his face.

 

“Ah, please, yes, please could I have, please give me your cock, I want—no please, could I just have anything, give me anything, I want you to come, on me, in me, anywhere just please please let me, Daniel,” he babbled, sensing Daniel’s breath getting shallower.

 

Daniel swallowed. “And why should I debase myself on such a dirty whore? Why should I let you stain me?”

 

He stood, his presence and that of the knife retreating, and Alexander ached, and this was terror. Words, he had words, he could do as he wished with what words his lizard-like brain still held. He would die if Daniel left.

 

“Use me, please use me, I’m nothing, I’m nobody, I’m dirt, please, your cock, please I’m just a whore, just flesh, please I’m your whore, choke me with it, kill me anything just—please—”

 

Daniel exhaled, loud. “Zounds, Brennenburg, what are you like,” he muttered, and the knife was at his neck, cutting the rope, nicking his shoulder, clattering to the floor, and the sack was off his head for a split second where he could barely take a breath or even blink before Daniel’s cock was in his mouth, in all its girth.

 

“Well, get to work, whore,” Daniel said, thrusting. Alexander gagged. “Or perhaps you can’t take it?”

 

Alexander settled and tried to relax his throat through a heartbeat that Daniel must have been able feel through him, or perhaps it was coming from Daniel. He got to work, through the painful stretching of his cracked and bleeding lips.

 

He tried to look up at the blur that was Daniel through watering eyes. He was still wearing most of his clothes; dishevelled, eyes shuttered, looking down at him desperate, pleading, stomach tightening. He would never admit how much he liked this, Alexander knew, not when they were removed from this, taking tea in the parlour, not when they were discussing whatever high-minded subjects humans decided assigned them superior value.

 

But Alexander could taste it in the precome he swallowed down, in the moans he could feel Daniel holding back, in the connection of both their minds purging. He wished he had his hands free. Or perhaps it was better just so, tongue swirling around Daniel’s head before the next thrust came, the continuation of the act depending on his balance and sustained focus. Daniel’s eyes met his, and his mouth parted at what he saw. Fingers wound in his hair, thumb dragging up his forehead in affection.

 

It could never be said that Alexander von Brennenburg was a man who didn’t take pride in his work. He could have smiled. Daniel thrust in further, and he took it, swallowing, ignoring the ache in his entire body, in his own trousers.

 

He hummed, and Daniel let go of his head. “Such a good whore,” he moaned. “You’re so good like this.”

 

Alexander shut his eyes. It was almost painful to see Daniel in such a state. Nothing could put a dent in his plans.

 

He made a small sound as Daniel pulled out, unexpected.

 

“But why should I sully myself on you?”

 

He tried to turn his head, to follow the sight of Daniel and his pretty cock moving to stand behind him once more.

 

“Please,” Alexander whined, “I don’t think I can bear it.”

 

He couldn’t hear what Daniel was doing over the ringing in his ears. He tried to twist his torso, throw his head back, anything, trying to put him back in his field of vision, fighting his fetters. As he did so, he found friction, finally, against his trousers, finally, and he moaned. Clear, he was clear.

 

“Oh, would that you could see yourself.”

 

Daniel’s voice came in a rumble, and Alexander realised all at once that he was touching himself. His breath caught. Touching himself, where he couldn’t see him, couldn’t see the beauty of him stroking his thick length with a firm hand. He was probably biting his full lip in that way of his, eyes widening. He could hear the sound his flesh made in his grip.

 

“Let me. Let me see you.” He tried to writhe again. It was something, at least.

 

“This isn’t the vaudeville,” Daniel breathed in his ear. He tried to move his head to meet his lips, but Daniel jerked back. “You get nothing.”

 

He continued. He began making beautiful little noises.

 

Alexander very nearly sobbed. He tried turning his head again, anything. And promptly felt the crop resting against the side of his neck.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Daniel growled.

 

Alexander swallowed, eyes fluttering. “Oh, Daniel. You are so cruel to me.”

 

“Am I?” Breath at his neck, kneeling behind him. Close enough to dream of hands and sweat and fucking on stone. Daniel’s rhythm was faster, now.

 

“So cruel. This is torture.” Alexander gasped as Daniel shifted his grip on the crop, moving it in front of Alexander, holding it vertically to the floor so it pressed against his groin. “Torture.”

 

“Torture,” Daniel echoed, sinking his teeth into Alexander’s shoulder, “Torture,” he forced in between pants, forehead pressed into Alexander, “or that which—redeems?”

 

They moved together, Daniel’s cock a suggestion against Alexander’s back as Alexander pushed into the crop, and finally, it was something, hair in his eyes, eyes wet as his mouth fell open in strangled sobs, and yes, Daniel would give him nothing but he could give him this, an uncomfortable crop to rub against and a beautiful body at his back, beautiful, and as always, he could never look back, never, or he would be lost in hell for ever.

 

His fingers were numb as he tried to reach out for anything, anyone. Everything was fading but the feeling of rough, breath and sublime discomfort. He could see nothing but stone and the hair in his face, all fading into edges of black, copper in his mouth and throbbing pulse in his throat, and he could have been alone but for Daniel’s heat, he could have been dead but for the pain in his joints and the crop sliding against him as he thrust, pathetic, alone, dead. Dead. He couldn’t die here. Please.

 

“Please, I’ve done,” he choked through the sting, “I’ve done nothing wrong, I’ve done nothing—”

 

“Nothing,” Daniel gasped, bit and drew blood, “No, nothing.”

 

“I’m innocent,” Alexander sobbed, “Please, let me go, I’ve done nothing—”

 

He growled as he came, overtaken and rubbed-raw to the crop’s tease, underwhelming. He blinked through it, frustrated, needing more before it was over.

 

Daniel behind him, seeing to himself. He could have pleasure. He could have all the pleasure Alexander wouldn’t, at present. Maybe he would absorb some of Daniel’s on the way. Daniel was too much, and still Alexander wanted more.

 

He knew he would never get it. Shouldn’t.

 

He tried turning his head again, as Daniel let go of the crop. It lay discarded on the floor before him, useless.

 

“You’re so good, Alexander,” Daniel muttered, breath hot, “You’re so good to me.”

 

Alexander fixed his eyes ahead. He probably wouldn’t be able to walk for a while; due to the restraints, this time. Next time, it would have to be from the buggering he hoped he would get. Daniel was such a rarity of a talented fuck. He would know.

 

He was always chasing the next time. Was this how Daniel felt about the laudanum?

 

“I love those noises you make when you come, Alexander.” And wasn’t he taking his time. He thought he had refined the art of fellatio. It ought to have taken Daniel most of the way there. He elected to focus on Daniel’s energies. “So beautiful, Alexander—so beautiful I could.”

 

And he did, all over his back, which he was sure he would have found appealing five minutes ago, but as it was, he needed a hard drink and a hard cock. The sting of Daniel’s come was pleasant on his sore skin.

 

Dizzy, he fought back an ill-feeling of numbness, bleeding into Daniel’s nauseous joy, and all his needs became immaterial.

 

At some point, Daniel had stood to retrieve the knife. He knelt behind Alexander, this time to cut him loose.

 

For a moment, he didn’t move. He tested an arm. A leg. It was excruciating. Good. He let out a contented sigh, slowly stretching out his limbs.

 

Wordless, he lay on his stomach and gazed ahead. He yawned, shut his eyes. It could have been a second or an hour later, but he felt a hand stroking through his hair, gently untangling, and a washcloth at his back.

 

“Are you alright?” Daniel’s voice sounded as though it had come from far away.

 

“Mmm.”

 

He didn’t want to move from here, against the cold stone and Daniel’s warm hands, and made a sound of protest when Daniel nudged him to turn over, to clean off his front. He settled, vertebrae pushing into the floor, his body sighing in relief.

 

“Was it too much?” Daniel asked as he buttoned his trousers again.

 

Alexander looked up at him, charmed by the concern in his voice. At least he knew his own mind: he knew he was too easily given to affection. It was his main flaw, constant across centuries.

 

“You did well. Take it to the vaudeville.”

 

Now there was true alchemy, in Daniel’s laugh. “I don’t think I could compete with the actors of Soho.”

 

“Why not?” Alexander smiled through his breaking heart. “You seem to do well with old whores.”

 

Daniel shook his head, looking at him as though he couldn’t look away, as though he were something enchanting. He joined him on the floor, propping himself up on one elbow, his body heat more welcome and necessary than Alexander had realised. He ran a hand up and down his side before moving it up to hold his wrists, rubbing feeling back into them.

 

The old retellings traditionally stopped at the fated backwards glance, at Eurydice’s final descent: far from the end.

 

The true end? Orpheus, punished for his grief and disdain in all but the sun, torn to pieces in revenge, in the name of the gods. The dismembered head singing on the river Hebron, as it filled up with the waters of Lethe, until all the toil and mastery was naught but provender, until there was once a godlike life that had been smothered in sweet dirges, forgotten by all and itself, deleted from history.

 

Alexander was trapped in Daniel’s eyes, in his spreading smile. “Where’s my kiss?” Daniel said with shocking levity, as though Alexander were an ingénue.

 

And he felt it, when Daniel leaned into him and captured his lips, gentle and soft. He felt all the possibilities. All the will. Fear. All the energy returned, as though he were young, all of eternity stretching out before him from this uneven stone floor. As Daniel kissed him, pressing him down, he knew what must come to pass.

 

He will go home.

 

Daniel will die.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr @chanelpirate 
> 
> Title respectfully borrowed from the [Diary of Dreams song of the same name.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZR9nRJa_Gk)


End file.
